


The Mechanisms of Cold and Heat

by misura



Category: Gentleman Bastard Sequence - Scott Lynch
Genre: M/M, Sharing Body Heat, Snowed In
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-22
Updated: 2014-12-22
Packaged: 2018-03-02 20:12:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2824718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Remind me again," said Jean, "which part of your plan called for us freezing to death?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mechanisms of Cold and Heat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [corialis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/corialis/gifts).



"Remind me again," said Jean, "which part of your plan called for us freezing to death?"

"It was a gods-damned blizzard, Jean," said Locke. "Nobody plans for a gods-damned blizzard."

 

At the time of year which in warmer climates would have been referred to as 'Summer', artists from all over the world gathered in Azora, also called the Shining Jewel of the North, if you happened to be unfortunate enough to be speaking with one of the representatives of its Ministry of Foreign Relations and Tourism, or An Excellent Place to Get Your Balls Frozen Off, if you had been unlucky enough to run into a visitor from, for example, Camorr, where people were less inclined to ignore the occasionally vulgar realities of the situation.

To be invited to attend was an honor beyond compare; to refuse, a guarantee of at least one visit from an Azoran civil servant trained in the arts of being rude.

Nobody, it was said, had ever refused an invitation twice. One or two people, according to rumor, had not even been prevented from attending by the fact that they were dead.

Tourists were encouraged to take these rumors with a stick of salty butter and a cup of Azoran firewine.

 

"Strip."

Locke considered a number of responses to this command, before finally settling on a simple "No."

Jean looked up. He had been in the process of unbuttoning his shirt. Locke envied him the fact that his hands were still capable of performing such complicated tasks as undoing a button.

"I can make you."

Locke decided he didn't much like Jean's tone. It reminded him of Vel Virazzo, which was not a memory Locke particularly welcomed at this point. "I seriously doubt that."

"Why?" asked Jean. He'd changed his expression to something less annoyed and more ... hurt, perhaps. Locke didn't think it was much of an improvement. "The plan's still good; this storm's not going to last forever. We can - "

"I'm not going to take my clothes off because my fucking hands are too cold to do anything, you gods-damned idiot."

Jean looked relieved. Locke wanted to hit him, which would require using his hands and was therefore not a realistic choice of action to pursue. Nonetheless, he felt a glimmer of warmth at the idea.

 

Quite what use the Eldern had intended for Azora would likely as not remain a mystery forever. Its architecture seemed to have inspired by notions that had been anything but practical.

Of course, historians pointed out, what seemed impractical to humans might have represented the height of good, common sense to the Eldern.

However, if that was the case, other historians remarked, the only possible conclusion would be that all the _other_ cities had been designed by simpletons and madmen, or whatever the Eldern equivalent of such people might be.

 

"You'd best keep your hands to yourself," said Locke. His body seemed to be possessed of the notion that pressing as close to Jean as possible was the quickest way of getting warm again.

Locke wasn't entirely sure where this idea had come from. He suspected it might have sprung from the fact that pressing as close to Jean as possible was, in fact, the quickest way of getting warm again.

"Funny," said Jean, "I was just thinking how maybe I should close my eyes to spare them the sight of your ugly face."

"Right," said Locke, which wasn't quite as witty as he'd have liked to be. He supposed it came from having grown up in a city like Camorr; his body simply wasn't used to low temperatures and, apparently, it considered the proper functioning of his brains not nearly as essential to his survival as, say, the use of his legs, or his ability to talk, for example. "Glad we got that clear."

"Gods. I feel like I'm cuddling with a block of ice."

"Sorry."

Jean sighed. Locke was surprised to find that they had not been pressed together quite as closely as he'd thought.

On the other hand, being warm but no longer able to breathe might not represent an actual improvement of his situation, regardless of how he might view the matter this very moment.

"If it helps, I don't think I'm about to melt," said Locke.

"Are you sure?" said Jean. "Not to brag, but I've been known to have that effect on some people."

"The blind, presumably."

"Looks aren't everything."

"In your case, I'd say they accurately advertise your personality."

"Small minds," said Jean.

"You'd think being small would mean it'd take me less time than you to get warm again."

"If you'd read more books, you'd know why it doesn't work like that."

"Oh, good," said Locke. "A lecture. Just what I wanted right now. Well, it might help me fall asleep, for lack of anything better to do than lie here and listen to you insult me."

"I don't think you should let yourself fall asleep right now."

"Why - "

"Unless you weren't planning on waking up again. In which case, I can hurt you."

"Threatening physical harm to prevent someone from killing himself doesn't seem like a very sound strategy. In fact, it sounds straight-up numb-witted."

"I try to tailor my strategies to their intended targets," said Jean.

"If my wits are located anywhere near my feet, I think they've just gone from 'numb' to 'tingly'."

"Good."

"I think I was more comfortable before."

"Life equals suffering."

"Bullshit," said Locke. "I mean, seriously, Jean." His body perversely decided that now was a good time to start shivering again.

"The tingly sensation means your body is wisening up to the fact that you're still alive and no longer in imminent danger of freezing to death."

"My body isn't a particularly fast thinker, is it? I figured that out _hours_ ago."

Jean's hands started rubbing his back. Locke decided not to object. "Hours?"

"Minutes, then. Should I return the favor?"

"Not unless your hands are a whole lot warmer than the rest of your body."

"Ah," said Locke. "That would be a 'no'."

"I thought so."

"All joking aside, don't you feel this situation is a little ... contrived? I mean, it could come straight out of one of your romances. Two travellers, surprised by a blizzard, finding unexpected shelter. Being forced to share blankets in order to survive."

"I think you're confusing 'romance' with another kind of fiction."

"Possibly," admitted Locke.

"Well," said Jean. "I suppose I love you well enough on those days when you're not behaving like a self-pitying, whiny drunkard who can't string two thoughts together. Which, I admit, you haven't done for a good while now. Still, that doesn't mean I suddenly want your hands anywhere near my cock."

"It could have been an on-going kind of thing," said Locke. "A touch of pining, a sprinkle of denial."

"I suppose that's possible. In theory."

"I, of course, fully return your feelings - minus the drunkard part, and plus the bit where you can behave like a self-righteous saint sometimes. And now, circumstances have conspired to put us in a position to act upon these previously suppressed feelings. How could we possibly resist?"

Jean remained silent for a full minute. Locke wriggled around a bit to make himself more comfortable.

"Your new plan calls for us to be found _in flagrante_ by a rescue party?"

"It's a thought. Alternately, we could improvise."

"Have you ever noticed how we always end up even deeper in horseshit than before every time you start improvising?"

"Well, at least we'll know what to expect."

"No," said Jean. "Just this once, I'd like for things to go smoothly. So, if those are our choices, I'd have to say my preference would lie with the first option. Only ... "

"Yes?"

"Your hands had gods-damned well better be properly warmed up first."


End file.
